


More Beautiful

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 10:01:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3286199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the journey’s even planned, Thorin’s young nephews try to make him smile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Fili and Kili know that their Uncle misses Erebor and wants the Arkenstone. So, they decide to make him an Arkenstone. With lots of glue and glitter and stuff” request on [The Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/13429.html?thread=24941685#t24941685).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He’s tired when he gets home, sore in every spot and dizzy from the heat of the shop—he’s getting too old to toil with fire. There isn’t enough ventilation in these carved-out homes, not like the towering, great halls of Erebor, but nowhere ever is. Every place Thorin finds himself is a pale imitation, and the more he thinks on it, the more bitter he becomes, until he can taste the bile in the back of his throat and wants nothing more than to rip something to shreds.

Or fall face-first into a cot. He strips his coat as he comes through the door of his room, leaving it ajar in his wake. The mess of maps is still across his table from where he left it this morning, and for a moment, he thinks he might sit down and try again. 

There must be _some_ way around a dragon. If he were only to go back, surely some would follow—Dwalin would, and Balin might come, and if he can send word to Dáin—

He will hear nothing back, and live without the glamour of hope. He turns his back on the table and reaches for the cup on the stand by his bed. He throws back a swig, and it’s stale, left over from the morning, but it still hits the spot. Then it’s onto the edge of the bed, where he tugs off his heavy boots.

He should’ve shut the door. Fíli and Kíli come bursting in at once, out of the blue with their little voices clamouring for him, competing with one another to stand in front. They get all the way to the bed before he deciphers more than just his name shouted over and over again, and Fíli shoves something in the air, shouting, “We fixed it!”

Thorin stares at the thing in Fíli’s fingers—a rock, he thinks, with shredded parchment glued around it and painted squiggles, sparse patches of glitter here and there. Fíli pushes it forward with his little hands, right into Thorin’s waiting palm, and Kíli squeals excitedly, “We made you an Arkenstone!”

“An... Arkenstone?” Thorin repeats dazedly, like there can be more than one. He looks down at the lump in his lap, turning it over. They’ve scribbled blue in parts, orange in others, and the glitter that clings in globs of dried glue shines a synthetic silver. Dís must have described it to them, and Thorin can see that they must’ve tried their best, but it’s nowhere near the real thing. Nothing fabricated ever could be. It’s a sad, misshapen attempt that the boys will probably be embarrassed of in a dozen years, but for now, they look up at him with their tiny faces, so full off innocence and hope.

“We know you really miss it,” Kíli says, after a moment of all their silence, and his smile is so sincere that it makes Thorin’s heart clench.

“We know you’ll get the real one back,” Fíli insists, nodding to himself so his blond hair bounces, still not enough to grow around his chin. “But you can have this one in the meantime!”

“And we’ll go with you to get the real one when you’re ready!” Kíli says bravely, puffing up his chest. Fíli nods vigorously. Neither of them have any clue what it means to be chased by a dragon, and he doesn’t have the heart to shatter their young imaginations. 

So he just grins at them and looks down at his gift.

When he stands, they automatically move back, and Thorin steps between them, walking over to the dresser on the other side of the room. For now, it bears only remnants of Erebor—the few trinkets Thorin hasn’t yet had to sell. He moves those into the top drawer and places his new Arkenstone on top instead, displaying it on the best place in the room. Then he steps back, nodding. 

It will do. 

It can remind him that even if the dragon took his treasures, it couldn’t take all his family. He still has things worth fighting for.

He’s almost knocked over when Fíli and Kíli latch onto him from behind, hugging him tight around the middle. 

He dislodges them when he turns around, but only long enough to scoop them both up in a bigger hug, smiling bright and sighing, “ _Thank you._ ”


End file.
